Stargazer
by almcvay1
Summary: AU: Lizzie is an amateur astronomer who lives across the street from Red's Bethesda apartment.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: AU:** Lizzie isn't FBI but a counselor (and an amateur astronomer), Red is still...shady. Not sure how much anyone will like this, completely unbeta'd. And obviously, I own nothing. Also thanks to my lovely gutterbugs who graciously allowed me to bounce this idea around like a ball on a squash court. :-)

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Elizabeth Keen loved her new apartment. The ink had barely dried on her divorce decree before she high-tailed it out of DC, winding up in Bethesda. It was an unassuming complex; a block of four buildings, two stories each. It was smallish, but lovely and perfectly suited to her simpler life without her ex-husband. It was close to her new job at the counseling center and as an added bonus, she had a rooftop garden, to which she promptly hauled her favorite telescope. Here, away from the lights of DC, she could see the stars. Maybe not as many as she could back in Nebraska; but more than she could from Georgetown. She enjoyed her peace and quiet in the dark, reading her star maps with her red tinted flashlight, observing meteor showers and planetary movements. And very occasionally, the Concierge in the building across the street.

It was an accident, the first time. She was adjusting the scope when she bent to retrieve her light and knocked it with her shoulder. So now, instead of the stars, she had a stalker-eye view of the apartment across the road. He was standing at the French doors that led onto his balcony, and he was quite a dashing figure in his gray three piece suit. Lizzie supposed that's why she didn't immediately move the scope. You just don't see men that well-dressed anymore. Sure, maybe a suit and tie, but a vest? A fedora, for Pete's sake? She must have watched him for about fifteen minutes before her conscience caught up to her. He strode back and forth in front of those doors like a man on a mission, talking on the phone as far as she could tell. He took his hat off after the first few minutes and Lizzie had to suck in a deep breath. He was…handsome. Not many men could be described as handsome; they could be good-looking or cute, but handsome had a certain refinement, a level of panache that ordinary men just didn't bother with anymore. He was older than her by probably fifteen years or so, but he had lovely cheekbones and lips that could not be real. He was just beautiful really, solid and strong in his gorgeous suit, with his pretty mouth. Lizzie's brain waxed poetic until she realized her egregious error in judgment and, as penance, she packed up her telescope and went back downstairs to her apartment.

She didn't go back up to the roof for two days. But when she did, she couldn't stop herself from swinging the lens in the same direction. Sometimes he was there, always in a suit, usually on the phone; sometimes the curtains were closed tight. Lizzie always felt a little sad when that was the case. She wasn't sure when she started calling him the Concierge, at least in her head. Something about him reminded her of the people in the fancy hotels who made arrangements for guests. A table for dinner, tickets to a show, whatever was needed. They always seemed so posh, and they could find you anything you wanted. She imagined the man in that apartment didn't have trouble getting what he wanted.

It was a warm August night when things got a little odd. Lizzie brought her telescope up to the roof at sunset to watch the Perseids meteor shower. It was a hot and sticky night in Maryland and the humidity made her tank top stick to her skin. She studied the star charts while she waited for the night to fall completely and drank steadily from her bottle of water. Out of habit, she glanced over at the Concierge's apartment to find him on the balcony. That was new. She tossed her ethics to the wind for a moment and moved the barrel of the scope to focus on him. His suit jacket was discarded on the railing, the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to his elbow and his tie was gone but his linen waistcoat was still buttoned up. He leaned on the railing of the tiny porch, with a glass of something in his hand. She stared so long at him she swore she could make out every ripple of muscle in his forearms and her pulse pounded dangerously in her brain. Suddenly, his gaze swung up to her rooftop and Lizzie jerked the scope away with a gasp and flung herself down on the bench. After a moment, she dared a peek, just with the binoculars, and sighed with relief. He was gone. All during the meteor shower, she gave herself a blistering lecture about voyeurism and people's privacy until her face was scarlet with shame. This was not how she was raised at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So here is chapter two. Thank you so much for the amazing response to this story. It's so lovely and encouraging. Still unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. Also, I own nothing. Quite literally, nothing.

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Lizzie refused to go back to the roof for a week. She wasn't going to tempt herself. She stayed in her apartment, or on her little balcony, tending her flowering plants and enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. Her balcony was set on an angle from that of the Concierge, so if he came out, they could see each other. But she never saw him in the mornings. He only came out at twilight. Perhaps he, like her, preferred the darkness.

She found herself thinking about him; wondering who he was and what he did. Occasionally, on her way to work, she would catch a glimpse of a man in a suit, or someone in a hat and her heart would begin to pound in her chest. But it was never him. Unable to explain her frustration with that, she compensated by putting in longer hours at the counseling center. Even at work, though, she would find herself wondering if he was married, or if he had children. During her shameful, furtive observations she noticed he was always alone. She never saw anyone else at the apartment. But she told herself that meant nothing, because surely a man like that, so obviously attractive and successful, didn't spend a single night alone unless that was what he wanted. She gave herself a mental shake and tried to focus on her work.

Neptune was on its closest approach to the Earth, so Lizzie went up to the roof to get a look at the blue planet that was so very far away. She lectured herself sternly about keeping her telescope pointed in the right direction and deliberately faced away from her temptation. She opened her star guide and began to chart the various constellations, she had almost an hour before Neptune would be visible, a tiny blue dot in her viewfinder. She shivered a little bit, as the night air cooled around her.

"For I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night…" Lizzie leapt from her seat on the bench at the sound of a stranger's voice on the roof. She whirled in a circle, but couldn't find the source. Then she saw him, standing near the fire escape. A light-colored three-piece suit, again, with the collar open, he stood with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Lizzie's wide eyes searched for a viable escape route. She was on a rooftop with a strange man whom she had been watching like a voyeur. Neptune was not worth taking a swan dive on to the pavement.

Evidently, he realized she was freaking out. He held his hands up, showing his palms, as he smiled at her.

"Relax, Lizzie; I'm not here to hurt you."

"How do you know my name?"

"There isn't much I don't know, or can't find out. But your name is on the mailbox directory downstairs, so that was simple enough."

"What do you want from me?" Lizzie felt herself tense, ready to run or scream, depending on the situation. He knew her name, what else did he know about her?

"I saw you up here with this contraption; I was curious."

He took a cautious step towards her, still smiling. Up close, he was no less handsome, but he was definitely more charming. She kept her cell phone in her hand, just in case, but he didn't seem inclined to toss her from the roof. Perhaps, he didn't realize what she had been up to with her telescope. She would have to bluff it out.

"I was looking at Neptune." Lizzie hated that her voice trembled, it sounded so hesitant next to his smooth, self-assured baritone.

"Neptune? Really? But it's so far away." His quizzical expression made him less intimidating, somehow. Lizzie took a breath, and tried to settle her nerves.

"Yes, but it's come to its nearest point tonight. Closest to the earth it can be. It's just a dot really, but with a good telescope, it's a pretty blue dot. " She stood beside her telescope, fiddling with the knobs nervously.

"I could show you. If you wanted. But you have to answer a question first."

He smiled at her and she melted a little inside. That smile should be illegal.

"Lizzie? What is your question?"

Well, hell, she'd forgotten to ask. "What's your name?"

"My name is Raymond Reddington. Most people call me Red. And I would love to see Neptune."

He stepped close enough that she could see the fine lines around his eyes. She still couldn't make out the color. But then he took his jacket off and her thoughts left eye color completely. He really was exceptional. He wasn't particularly tall, but so broad shouldered that he seemed taller than he was. Lizzie turned back to her telescope and began to actually adjust the instrument. She checked her maps and her compass a few times, peered through the viewfinder, scanning for the blue dot in a field of silver. Lizzie smiled to herself when she spotted it and leaned down to note it on her map. Suddenly she was immersed in warmth and the scent of leather and wood smoke as he draped his jacket carefully around her. She couldn't prevent herself from drawing a deeper breath, hoping for more of his scent. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and offered him her spot, so he could see the faraway planet.

"You looked chilly."

"Thank you."

She gave herself just a tiny moment to enjoy the flex of the muscles under his vest as he bent to the eyepiece. She was going to have to find a way to stop looking at this man without his knowledge. It was embarrassing. The only saving grace right now was the darkness hid her red face. She sat down, purposely flipping through one of her books to give herself a task. He looked at Neptune for a little while and then sat down next to her.

"That's really quite a marvel. Can you imagine being one of the first astronomers, trying to convince people that the earth wasn't alone in the solar system? Or trying to sell the Church on heliocentric theory?"

Lizzie smiled at him in the dark. He was handsome, charming and apparently, well-educated as well. She was fresh from a nasty divorce, and the last thing she needed was handsome and charming. Not to mention she knew next to nothing about this man. She needed to manage this situation carefully.

"Well, a lot of the early astronomers died in prisons or asylums, so I guess it was a tough sell." She kept her voice cool and light. Easy does it girl, just back away from the wild thing in the suit. She checked her cell phone for the time, and stood slowly. It was getting late. He got to his feet as well and watched as she began to collect her books and maps. He leaned against the edge of a picnic table with his hands once again in his pockets and watched her break down the telescope.

"Do you need some help getting everything back to your apartment?"

"Nope, I'm okay." She pulled out her tote and shoved all the small things in there. She slung it over a shoulder and tucked the barrel of the scope under her arm. She extended her hand to Red for a proper handshake and then had to stifle a gasp when he simply clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss was a breath, a ghost of a feeling and his lips were like silk. Lizzie swallowed hard and stiffened her spine. Such an old-fashioned gesture shouldn't be construed as sexual and it wasn't, until Red caught her gaze with his own. The look was undeniable. This was no mere courtly anachronism; this was a prelude. He smiled and it was all heat and purpose.

"Well, Lizzie, I've certainly enjoyed the view. Hope you've been doing the same." Lizzie's eyes flashed to his, wide and panicked. He knew she'd been watching him. She snatched her hand away as though he'd burned her and with a stuttered good night, she fled into the stairwell and back to her safe zone.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** A huge hug and thank you to everyone for the support and love for this story. I'm overwhelmed and amazed. This is a short update, but more in the works. I don't have a schedule for updates, but I always try to do so as soon as possible. This, of course, is totally un-beta'd and none of these characters belong to me.

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It wasn't until she stood in her kitchen, humiliated tears leaving cold tracks on her face that she realized she still had his jacket. She cursed herself over and over for being a fool and worse as she hung it on a hanger, trying to keep the fine linen from wrinkling. A glance at the label told her that it cost more than she made in a month. She would have it sent to him tomorrow, maybe by courier. Or maybe the next day. She hung the jacket on the back of her bedroom door and fell asleep staring at the shape in the dark.

Lizzie's alarm went off at the usual brain-jangling hour and the jacket was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. She grabbed the hanger as she shuffled into the bath to take a shower, contemplating the various ways to return what was basically stolen property. By the time she had finished and was drying her hair, she knew she had to bite the bullet. She owed him an apology. Sam had raised her to do the right thing and, though he was gone, she wasn't going to shame the man she called father. She would return the jacket in person, with an apology, after work today.

Time flew by, as it always does when the end of day brings an unwanted task. No matter how much she wanted to avoid it, she knew she would be better off if she got it over with. She parked her car in her spot and with the jacket in hand, walked across to the building where Raymond Reddington lived. She perused the names on the mailboxes, but didn't see one labeled with his name. Maybe he was a new tenant, and they hadn't yet changed the name. It wasn't exactly unheard of. Lizzie frowned as she stood in the foyer of the building, trying to figure out which apartment was his. Eventually she just decided to wing it and marched up the stairs.

Lizzie found the door to Red's apartment slightly ajar. Her first thought flew to a break-in and she grabbed her cell phone from her handbag, though she paused before dialing the emergency number. She knocked softly on the door, listening for any sort of sound, and she faintly heard the sound of running water. So perhaps he was home and the door simply hadn't latched properly behind him. That happened at her place occasionally. She knocked a bit louder, wincing when her motion caused the door to swing open further. She could see the empty living room, and either he had a strange idea of feng shui or something was amiss. An armchair was in the center of the room, a side table was next to it, lying on its side.

God, what should she do, Lizzie stood on the threshold fraught with indecision. She could just hang the jacket on the doorknob, close the door and run back to her apartment; which would only solve part of the problem. She could stand there and wait for him to come into the living room. On a frustrated sigh, she decided to grab the bull by the horns as she slipped into the apartment quietly. She made it only two steps into the living room before a strong arm wrapped around her throat and the muzzle of a gun was placed against her temple.

"Hello, Lizzie. What brings you here?" Red's voice growled in her ear.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** : Bouquets of roses to **LiteraryBitca** for giving this a read-through for me. As always, thoroughly disclaimed.

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All of the air left Lizzie's lungs as she stood with Red's arm like a well-dressed vise around her neck. She couldn't even summon enough wits to scream. She had never even held a gun and now one was pressed into her skull. For some reason the only thing about it that registered in her mind was that it was cold. The hanger with the jacket was still clutched in her hand as her brain tried to solve her breathing problem.

"Red…" Her words were a choked gasp in the silence of the room. Her hand came up to tug at his muscular forearm, trying to get a little space so she could speak. His grip relaxed a fraction, but the gun was still there. Lizzie sucked in air like a drowning woman.

"I just came to return your jacket. Your door was open." She could not keep the pleading note of fear out of her voice. She supposed her dignity would just have to take the hit, since she had never been more afraid in her life. She raised the hand holding the hanger like a white flag of surrender and his arm dropped away. She swayed on her feet at the sudden loss of support from his solid frame and soon found herself being shoved into the armchair in the center of the room. Red sat on the couch across from her, gun still in his hand, and even though Lizzie could now see his face, it brought little comfort.

"Oh my god, Red, what happened to you?" His face bore several lacerations, including one dangerously close to his eye. None of them looked deep, but they certainly looked painful. His usually crisp white shirt was wrinkled with what looked to be half the buttons torn off, revealing dark curls of chest hair and more cuts on his torso.

" I zigged when I should have zagged."

"Wait, what?" Lizzie stared at the man across from her as though he had slipped a few gears. She glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see that the door was still standing open. Not that she could beat a bullet, but at least she felt like she had options.

"It was a negotiation. It began well enough, but then it became personal. I was somewhat concerned that I had been followed, so when you walked in, I jumped to conclusions. I am sorry about that." Red rubbed a hand over a face that suddenly looked ten years older, exhaustion and pain having carved grooves around his mouth and eyes. Lizzie found herself feeling some grudging sympathy for someone who had just put a gun to her head. Right now, Red was in worse shape than she was, and she had been taught to help those who were hurt. She stood up, flinching a little when his grip tightened on the pistol. She put her brave face on and extended a somewhat shaky hand to the injured man. He stared at it and then her for a moment, seeming to come to some decision in his mind, and laid the pistol down on the coffee table.

"Come on, Red, let's get you cleaned up. You've got a first aid kit around here, I hope?"

Red took her hand in his and she could see the bruising around his knuckles. It looked like he had been in a bar brawl, not a negotiation. She looked at him curiously as he rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand in a slow circle. Lizzie refused to acknowledge the shiver than ran through her at the gentle touch by a man so capable of violence.

"You don't have to look after me, Lizzie. I can handle it." His words were clear enough, but his eyes begged her not to leave him alone. She wasn't going to do that. She gave his hand a tug and he got to his feet, following her through the apartment to the hall bathroom.

The room was larger than she expected, with a convenient bench that Red settled on to with a sigh. She found the first aid kit in the bottom cabinet of the vanity. It was easily twice the size of the one she kept at home and she arched an eyebrow at Red in the mirror.

"Do this sort of thing often, do you?"

"I have it in case of emergency…it's not often needed." Lizzie continued to stare at his battered face in the mirror until he smirked at her and added, "This is nothing, really. You should see the other guy."

The giggle bubbled up and out of Lizzie before she could stop it. It seemed wrong to stand there with an injured person, laughing, but when his low chuckle joined in, she set aside the guilt. Armed with antiseptic wash and butterfly bandages she turned back around to start patching up the damage. He studied her closely as she cleaned the cuts on his face, only hissing in a breath at the cold sting of the antiseptic once. She could finally see his eyes up close now and solve the mystery of the green and blue color. He closed his eyes when she cleaned the deepest laceration near his eye, and she was briefly hypnotized by the sweep of his gold-tipped lashes. Biting her lip in an effort to concentrate, she carefully applied the butterfly closures to the wound.

"There, your face is as pretty as it ever was." She resisted, barely, the urge to kiss his forehead. It simply wouldn't do to go around kissing dangerous men. Lizzie wondered if she was having some kind of delayed stress reaction. Red opened his eyes and gave her a look of surprise that was almost comical until he spoke.

"So you think I have a pretty face, Lizzie?" His voice was a resonant murmur and she bit down on her lip a little harder and turned away without answering. She would need some gauze pads for the chest wounds. When she turned back to him, she stopped cold. He had stripped off his dress shirt and just sat there with a Cheshire smile playing across his lips. She was again reminded of comparing him to a wild animal in a suit. Now that half the suit was gone, the animal was far more visible. She drew a ragged breath and tried not to let her gaze stray to his broad shoulders or linger on his bare biceps. She soaked a gauze pad in medicinal wash and began to clean the blood off his skin.

"I came here not just to return your jacket, but also to apologize." Lizzie kept her eyes on her task, afraid to look at his face.

"What for?"

"For basically being a peeping tom. With the telescope and all. I completely invaded your privacy. I feel awful about it." Her jaw ached from clenching it tight. But she would get through this; her pride demanded it be done.

" I knew you were there. "

"Yes, I know you saw me once. But I wanted to tell you that I was sorry and that it wouldn't happen again. It wasn't right."

"I actually saw you before that particular instance." Her eyes flew to his face, saw the knowing smile, and felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

"Are you serious? You knew, almost the whole time." Just when she thought her embarrassment was complete, she realized how wrong she was. She would never be able to look this man in the eye again.

"Of course. The light bouncing off a scope is a thing I keep a careful eye out for in my line of work. Could just be binoculars, or it could be the scope of a rifle. Or it could be a pretty woman who watches stars."

"Why didn't you come over sooner? Or something?"

"I wasn't sure why you were doing it. Thought you might be a spy. So I made inquiries. Information isn't hard to find if you know who to ask. So before I appeared on your rooftop, I knew much more than your name."

Lizzie sat back on her heels in front of him, searching his face for a clue to what she should feel. On one hand, he had investigated her, invaded her privacy, but on the other hand, what had she done but the very same thing? She wanted to be angry, but the right to feel that anger had been stripped away. He held her gaze unflinchingly, as though he were waiting for her to work through her feelings. In the end, it was too much for Lizzie. She stood, disposed of the bloody gauze and left the bathroom without a backwards glance.

Red followed her into the living room, bare-chested, with his hands in his pockets as she collected her bag from where she'd dropped it. She needed to get away from this man. She didn't know him, and right now, she really didn't want to. She was hopelessly attracted to him, she could own that, but she couldn't keep doing this, being at a constant disadvantage. He watched her with something akin to regret in his expression, but Lizzie couldn't let herself absorb that right now. She just wanted to leave. So she did, closing the door carefully on the way out.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Things get a bit more AU here. Hope it works. As always, nothing belongs to me. Love to my gutterbugs, who are always great for a brainstorm.

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She didn't see him for another two weeks. Not that she was looking for him, of course. The day after playing Clara Barton in Red's apartment found Lizzie at work, typing his name furtively into a search engine. What she found or rather didn't find; was disappointing to say the least. The only mention she could find of anyone named Raymond Reddington was an obituary from almost twenty years ago. He had been an officer in the Navy who's abandoned car had been found in the snow on Christmas Eve; and when he hadn't been heard from in two weeks, he had been declared missing, presumed dead. He had no family. So, was Raymond Reddington an alias, a stolen identity or a ghost? She sat back in her chair with a sigh, recalling the warm, firm skin under her fingers. Definitely not a ghost.

October brought cooler temperatures at night, but she looked forward to new stars to map so early darkness saw her bundled up in a parka on her rooftop. She carefully chose a spot well away from Reddington's apartment. The residual anger from that last encounter still gave her a twinge, but she had almost convinced herself that she was mistaken about her level of attraction to him. As always though, she couldn't help but glance over at the windows now and then. Just to see if the lights were on.

One night, Lizzie climbed the stairs to find a lantern lit on the picnic table. She glanced around, but saw no one else and no other lights. She wondered if maybe someone had left it by accident. She set her equipment down and picked up the light, looking for the switch to turn it off. A noise from behind had her spinning around, her tripod in her hand like a weapon. Red stood in the shadows near the door; she had missed him at first, shrouded in a dark overcoat and black fedora, blending until he was part of the shadows. Lizzie held the light higher, wanting to see his face. He was remarkably healed, not even a scar to show where he had been in a fight. He smiled at her and she fought the urge to smile back. After all, she didn't smile at people that didn't exist.

"Good evening, Lizzie."

"Who are you?"

"Raymond Reddington, as I told you before." His mouth quirked at her line of questioning and she found herself annoyingly fascinated by the movement of his lips as he spoke. Still, she didn't lower the tripod.

"Raymond Reddington is dead."

His laugh was as dark and smooth as bittersweet chocolate. No one should have a laugh that sounds like that. A dead man shouldn't be laughing at all. Red sat at the picnic table, setting his hat aside, and she lowered the light, the better to see him.

"Have you been googling me, Lizzie? Quite the little voyeur, aren't you?" His sidelong gaze was challenging and Lizzie fought the tide of embarrassment that rose in her. She refused to apologize this time. The man had held a gun to her head, for God's sake.

"Are you actually surprised I tried to find some information on you, Red? You seemed to know plenty about me." She could feel herself becoming more belligerent and defensive with every word.

"Well, if someone is going to ogle me from a rooftop, without buying me dinner, I insist on knowing their name, at least."

The pithy retort on her lips became a frustrated sigh, as she set the tripod on the table and sat down beside him. This tit-for-tat was pointless; she knew she didn't have the high ground. He was right.

They sat in the dark, the tension having given way to a calm repose, and the only sound was their quiet breathing.

"Why do you call me, Lizzie?"

"I knew a little girl once, many years ago. She was Elizabeth and she had lost her parents in a fire. I managed to save her from the closet where she was hiding, but then the roof collapsed and trapped me. She pulled me out from the rubble, this tiny slip of a girl, not even six years old."

"What happened after that?"

"One of my colleagues took her to someone who could care for her. I was too badly injured to do so. And I didn't have any contacts who could watch over a little girl."

A shiver worked its way down Lizzie's spine. Sam had never told her much about her birth parents, only that she had been in a house fire, and they hadn't made it out. She had a scar on her left wrist as a souvenir, very faint.

"So you don't know what became of her?"

"No, my life, shortly thereafter became…complicated. I lost touch with my colleagues and I never did find out what happened to her. I always hoped I would find her."

His face is sad in the low light of the lamp; his gilded lashes lowered over haunted eyes. Her telescope sits on the table, forgotten. Lizzie isn't sure what to think now. Sam is gone, so there isn't any way to find out more about how it all happened. What if she is his Lizzie? What would Red be able to tell her about her parents? About herself? Should she mention her past? The questions swirl around her mind, like eddies of water in a slow-moving river.

In the end, Lizzie said nothing. All of the questions would be there tomorrow. She would solve the puzzle of Raymond Reddington and perhaps, some of her own personal puzzle. Right now, though, there was someone beside her who needed comfort, and that was second nature to her. She slid her hand over his on the bench, lacing their fingers together, and when he looked at her in confusion, she smiled.

Sometimes, simple was best.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Kind of a short chapter, but hopefully satisfying all the same. Properly disclaimed and thoroughly un-beta'd. Thanks for reading!

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The flowers arrived at work the next day, a beautiful, elegant arrangement of lilies in a bold fuchsia color. No card, no name, just an abundance of color and scent. One of her coworkers stopped by her office to admire them.

"Who sent these? They're beautiful."

"No idea. No card or note with them. "Lizzie sipped her coffee and contemplated the speckled pink petals. She could guess who they were from, but she hated to assume, and a tiny voice in her head said she also didn't care for disappointment, if she were wrong.

"Not often you see an arrangement of just Stargazer lilies. Usually they mix them up with other flowers."

Lizzie's eyes snapped up to her coworker with a start.

"What did you say they were called?" She knew little about flowers, only enough to keep the ones on her balcony alive.

"They're Stargazer lilies."

Stargazer. No longer just guesswork, now she knew Red had sent the flowers. She didn't know why exactly, but she could hazard a guess there as well. She had spent an hour on the phone with her Aunt June that morning, trying to carefully wheedle information about her own past from the woman. She may as well have tried to wrestle candy from a sugar addict for all the good it did. Her past was still shrouded in mystery, except for the bare bones of the story and the scar on her wrist. She wondered if Raymond Reddington would be willing to play twenty questions next time they met.

Night found her at the picnic table again, making notes on a chart. A rustle behind her made her stop and look around. Sure enough, she could make out the outline of fedora and overcoat in the darkness. He palmed his hat and set it on the table and stood looking down at her, the tiniest smile tipping the corners of his full lips.

"Thank you for the flowers."

"I thought you might figure out it was me. You're a clever woman, Lizzie."

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Red." She rolled her eyes as she picked up her star charts and moved over to the telescope. She had set it up to find Mars and possibly Jupiter tonight. She made a few adjustments and looked through the eyepiece, scanning for the steady bright light that would indicate a planet rather than a star. She felt Red behind her, just before his hand wrapped around hers, tugging her away from her telescope.

"I know flowers won't create trust where there is none, Lizzie. Consider them a prelude to a partial explanation." He stood close to her, still holding her hand, stroking the palm with his thumb while Lizzie tried to concentrate on his words.

"Partial explanations? Why only partial?"

"Full disclosure could get you killed."

That was a conversation stopper. Lizzie pulled her hand away, backing up to the table and sitting down hard. So, a technically dead man was telling her that explaining the truth about himself might end her life. Nothing scary about that at all. He stood over her like some dark angel, a harbinger of doom in a cashmere overcoat.

"I'm a criminal, Lizzie. I was an intelligence operative for the government, but then they turned on me. They killed most of my former team, and my CI, and they tried to kill me. So I turned on them. It has made me obnoxiously wealthy, but also a fugitive." His voice had died to almost a whisper by the time he finished his sentence. His mouth was pressed into a straight thin line, his eyes shuttered and dark. In her earliest training in psychological counseling, they taught that often bodies and faces told the tale far more articulately than any words. She studied him in the dim light. Red's face was a study in fear. Fear of judgment. Fear of rejection. This was a man who carried so many secrets that they seemed to inhabit his body like so many ghosts. Was one of those ghosts hers?

He sat down beside her on the bench, watching her face, not unlike she had done a moment ago. Lizzie stared off into the distance, trying to find the words she needed. It was a bit like picking out a planet among all those stars.

"You told me about a girl you saved from a fire, Elizabeth. Where was it?" She kept her face turned away, she was a terrible deceiver, and he was far too observant.

"Lincoln, Nebraska." Lizzie turned back to Red, wide-eyed as she pushed up the sleeve of her jacket. Her scar was faint, but still visible in the lamp light. He stared at the mark, horror-struck by the implications. He started to stand, but she grabbed his arm and tugged him back down.

"I think I need that full disclosure, Red."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** As always, disclaimed and unbeta'd. Sticking with the short chapters for now, as it seems to work fairly well. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. Your kind words are manna to my soul.

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Lizzie didn't know where to start. She was sitting in the cold darkness of a rooftop garden with a self-professed criminal. Who may have saved her from a house fire twenty-five years ago. Questions scrolled through her mind like the credits of a movie, she couldn't possibly focus on just one. She regarded the seemingly equally stunned man next to her with suspicion.

"Did you know who I was? Was all of this cat-and-mouse just a game you could play? When you said you knew more than my name, what did you mean?" her words flung themselves from her lips like knives hurled with sadistic glee. She could see Red flinch a little in the low light as her words hit their mark. He turned to her and she could see him trying to exert some control over his emotions. His lips were tight at the corners, his eyes carefully blank.

"I knew more than your name, yes. A basic background search was all I needed to reassure me that you weren't a spy. I knew your name, your address and where you worked and that you had just gotten a divorce. There was little need to dig any further, and as I had other matters more pressing, I let it go at that." His tone was even, perhaps a little flat. Lizzie wondered if he regretted having not looked a bit harder at her past, if it would have kept him from climbing onto her roof that night.

They sat a while in silence, each mired in thought. She tried to consider whether this revelation changed anything really. Her life was still her own, and finding out the circumstances that had set her on the path so long ago couldn't change them in any way. She wouldn't deny that she was curious, mostly about her parents. Who had they been? Why had Red been there the night of the fire? The source of everything was sitting next to her and yet it felt as though he may bolt at any moment. Undoubtedly, he thought she was angry at him; which is why it came as a surprise that he was the one to break the silence.

"I'm sure you have lots of questions, Lizzie. I'll try to answer them as best I can." He stood, looking down at her, with his carefully neutral mask in place. She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her with the press of a single finger against her lips. Her eyes closed of their own volition, relishing the warmth of that touch, however brief.

"But not tonight. It's late and it's cold and we both need some time to regroup."

"So, maybe tomorrow night?" Lizzie stood as well, wanting to be able to look him in the eyes. She didn't want him to leave thinking she blamed him. She wanted answers, but more than that, she didn't want him to disappear out of her life. She took a deep breath and went with her impulse.

"Have dinner with me, Red."

He looked so shocked she almost laughed. Whatever Raymond Reddington had been expecting, it definitely wasn't a dinner invitation. He stared at her like she had lost her mind, and maybe she had. She had just asked a criminal out on a date.

"Dinner? With you?" He still seemed wary, like he expected her to take the words back. The fact that he seemed to be anticipating it yanked at her heartstrings just a bit. He was wealthy, true, but he was alone. So very much alone that a simple invitation to dinner seemed to send him into a tailspin.

"Sure, with me. We have to eat, don't we? And maybe we can talk then. What do you say?"

"I say, yes." His smile was slow, but devastating in its charm. Lizzie felt the warmth of it all the way to her toes.

It wasn't until he had gone, and she'd gotten back to her apartment that she paused to reflect. She'd asked a criminal out on a date. An actual fugitive. Was it a date, a real date? Or more of an interrogation, but with food? What the hell was she going to wear?

Lizzie didn't sleep a wink that night.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Red and Lizzie on a date, yikes! Un-beta'd and as always disclaimed.

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Lizzie considered it a personal victory that she had only changed her outfit twice. She had asked a man who regularly wore three piece suits to dinner, who, besides possibly having some clues to her early childhood trauma, she also found ridiculously attractive, despite his admitted criminal conduct. She paused in mid-twirl in front of her full-length mirror, as her overly analytical brain began to nag her about the dangers of going out on the town with dangerous men. But this was her first date since her divorce, she frowned at her reflection, surely a woman was entitled to a little excitement.

The navy blue dress was definitely better than the black one she had first tried. Washed her out completely and made her look as though she were in mourning. A glance at her clock told her she had five minutes to get her shoes and coat on, before she was late. She shoved her feet into her lowest pair of heels and dashed out the door, still pulling on her winter coat.

Red was leaning against her small silver sedan almost casually. In a navy blue suit with a subtly patterned vest and tie, his overcoat unbuttoned, hands covered by black leather gloves, fedora tipped nonchalantly over his eyes. He smiled when he saw her and all her worries about who he was were shoved to the side. At least for the moment.

The ride to the restaurant was a bit quiet. Lizzie suspected that Red was as nervous as she was about the whole thing. She hoped that maybe the place she had chosen would ease the tension; it was a tiny jewel box in an older neighborhood, in fact, had once been the residence of some less-than-famous real estate tycoon. The Craftsman bungalow retained its original layout and Art Deco charm, and now served some of the very finest Italian food in the city. It was Lizzie's favorite place to treat herself when she had a bad day.

They stepped into the vestibule from the cold autumn evening and Red gallantly helped her off with her coat; his gloved fingers brushing the back of her neck as he did so. He paused after handing off the coat, tilting his head as his gaze swept her from head to toe. Lizzie told herself it was the heat of the restaurant that made her cheeks flush deep pink, not the blatant admiration of that look. She tried to re-align her thoughts. Red was here with her, she had asked him because she wanted to know more about him, and more about herself as well. These hormonal tangents she kept running off on were not going to get her the information she wanted. But as she watched him shrug off his overcoat and hat, she couldn't help but wonder what other secrets might be hidden under the expensive suit.

The corner booth in the smaller dining room was the best seat in the house, but after Red had smiled at the pretty, young hostess, Lizzie was not at all surprised. He escorted Lizzie with a single hand at her elbow and she tried not think too much about the proprietary touch, as they were seated finally with menus in hand.

"Are you sure you've never been here before, Red?"

"I'm quite sure. Why so suspicious, Lizzie?" He peered over the top of his menu with a single arched brow.

"Oh nothing, just that I've been coming here for months, and I've never scored the corner table."

"Never? Perhaps you should tip better." His laugh as her face twisted into an irritated scowl was full of good-humored teasing. Lizzie tried to keep a straight face, but it was useless. When their server arrived to get their drink order, she couldn't stop the giggle from escaping as Red turned on the charm again and the waiter almost fell over himself trying to please them.

"Does that charm of yours work on everyone and everything?"

"Doesn't seem to work on cats." Lizzie rolled her eyes and laughed. The tension that seemed coiled like a spring between them lessened somewhat with the light-hearted banter. Their respective meals provided welcome buffers between them and the elephant at the table. Lizzie could see Red watching her throughout their main course, even as he told her story after story of his adventures and misadventures in the world. There was wariness under the well-practiced flirtation, a guardedness at odds with his apparent ease and candor. But neither approached the subject, it lingered between them. She knew he wouldn't be the one to begin. If she wanted answers, she would have to ask.

She waited until dessert and coffee were served. A slice of chocolate torte that towered over the two forks on the plate, covered in a rich, chocolate ganache that was still warm. It was decadent and just a little bitter, a bit like her dinner companion. She tried for the casual approach, as she took another bite of the cake.

"So how are you both dead and a fugitive?"

"Well, you do go straight for the jugular, don't you?" Red paused with his fork still in the dessert.

"I like to be straightforward as much as possible. I find it takes people by surprise a lot."

"I'm dead to the public. I faked my death on Christmas Eve many years ago, when my own government tried to kill me. But I imagine that the people who were trying to beat me to it likely have known for some time that I am quite alive and well. It serves their purpose right now for me to remain dead. They probably think since they killed my colleagues, and I've been forced into a life of crime, that it's punishment enough for now."

"Punishment? What are they punishing you for exactly?"

"Treason, I believe."

Lizzie put her fork down and sat back in the booth. Treason was a high crime. It could carry a death penalty if convicted, unless the government decided you were useful enough. In that case, you disappeared into some hole somewhere and you were never seen again. At least, that's what all the movies and television shows claimed.

"Why were you in Nebraska?"

"Work."

"That's not really an answer. You do know that, right?"

"I said I would give you all the answers I could, I can't give you the answer to that question." His lips were set in a firm line, his eyes were shuttered again. Her charismatic date had vanished like a ghost and the mysterious Concierge had taken his place across from her. Lizzie could tell he wouldn't budge on that subject so she changed her angle.

"Were my parents part of your work?"

"Yes."

Red took a sip of his coffee, looked at it as though he wished it were something a great deal stronger. Lizzie felt a tiny twinge of guilt; this had to be difficult for him, answering all these questions. She did need answers, probably more than she realized until now. But she reminded herself that she didn't need them all tonight.

"That night, the fire, you saved me, didn't you?" Something flickered in his gaze as she watched his face. Just a tiny spark of something she couldn't identify. He reached out and covered her hand with his own, a tiny phantom of a smile on his lips.

"You saved us both that night, Lizzie."

The ride home was just as quiet, but perhaps less tense. She parked in her usual spot, thinking they would say goodnight and go to their respective corners, so when he followed her inside, she gave him a confused look.

"A gentleman always sees a lady to her door." That hand was back at her elbow as they climbed the stairs, just a tiny shade of possessive mixed with polite. Lizzie's mind churned with the possibilities now. Would he kiss her? Was he even interested in her like that at all? After all, it was just the first date, and with all the questions, she was no longer sure where they stood.

She never saw it coming. One moment she was trying to get her key in the lock of her door and then her back was against it. She could feel his hands, outside chill still lingering in the leather as he threaded his fingers through her hair. His lips covered hers and the resulting vortex of heat sucked Lizzie under like a rip current. It was violent and gentle and demanded that she stop thinking and just feel it. She was blind and deaf to everything but the man holding her in his arms as though she were precious.

For that moment, Lizzie saw stars.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for your sweet reviews for this story. It's a huge part of what makes writing fun for me. Hope you enjoy. As always, I own less than zero of this. Totally un-beta'd.

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The kiss left Lizzie shaking, standing just inside her door. Red hadn't even suggested that he come inside. He had smiled, kissed her cheek and reminded her to lock her door. She was so rattled that she had walked all the way in to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes before she remembered to go back and turn the deadlock. She had been divorced less than a year, and she hadn't even thought of beginning to date again, so she felt caught off-guard by her current circumstance. She wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next. With an ordinary guy, someone who was just an accountant, or even a doctor, she kind of knew the steps, how the dance would go. But Raymond Reddington was not an ordinary guy. It was that which brought her around to the crux of the matter. Was this the beginning of a relationship? Was a relationship even possible with someone like Red?

The possibilities seemed to spin in her head like a psychotic carousel, so she decided to put those thoughts away for the night and go to bed.

Morning came shrouded in misty rain. Lizzie went for her morning jog and came back to her apartment damp with rain as much as sweat. An envelope taped to her door grabbed her attention. She pulled it off and dropped it on her kitchen counter as she pulled a cold bottle of water out of her refrigerator. It lay on her counter, forgotten until she had showered and dressed. She saw the ink color before she read it and knew who it was from.

 _Dear Lizzie,_

 _I know you'll be angry with me for this letter, but it needs saying and I couldn't say it last night. I made a bad decision last night. I should never have touched you. Not because you aren't everything that is right in the world, but because I am everything that is wrong with it. There isn't much information I can give you about the fire that killed your parents, not without putting you at terrible risk. And I won't do that. It was a pleasure to spend the small amount of time I did with you, but you deserve much better._

 _Red_

Her heart began to pound in her chest as she read the words. Was he seriously giving her the brush-off? Angry wasn't the word she would use to describe how she felt right now. Livid, maybe. Furious, surely. And she wasn't going to let him get away with this.

Lizzie marched across the street to Red's building with speed and purpose, the letter clenched tightly in her trembling hand. She took the stairs with the speed reserved for high school track stars and before she could think hard enough to back down, she was pounding on his door like a maniacal Girl Scout.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, muscular man with skin the color of cocoa. He regarded her without speaking, and Lizzie was frozen for a moment, the words she had prepared for Reddington turned to dust on her tongue.

"Yes, Miss? May I help you?" His voice was quiet, polite and precise. A very slight accent was the only thing that suggested that his native language was something other than English.

"I-I was looking for Raymond Reddington?"

"I'm sorry. Mr. Reddington is gone."

"What? Where? Who are you, anyway?" Lizzie knew she was crossing the line of polite inquiry; she just didn't care at the moment.

"My name is Dembe, Miss. I take care of Mr. Reddington's cat and plants. He is currently out of the country." He was still polite, but very firm. Lizzie looked at him in his carefully tailored suit in askance. He certainly was a well-dressed housesitter.

"I can give him a message, if you like, Miss…?"

"I'm Lizzie. Lizzie Keen. Red and I were…" she trailed off, unsure now that she was required to find words to describe their relationship. They had shared a meal, a few conversations. That was the sum total of their acquaintance. Dembe was still waiting for her to finish her sentence, his face carefully neutral.

"Do you have a pen, Dembe?" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a silver pen, twisting it to reveal the ball point. Lizzie put the letter against the wall and scribbled a fast note.

 _Red,_

 _Nice try. But it's not going to work._

 _Lizzie_

She folded the letter into a square and handed it to the man patiently waiting in the doorway. He tucked it away in his jacket along with the pen.

"I'll see that he receives this message, Miss Keen."

"Thanks." Lizzie turned on her heel, and heard the door close behind her, as she descended the stairs with a frustrated sigh. Her history with men wasn't stellar, admittedly. But that was the first time she had ever had a guy leave the country after the first date.

The next week was painfully slow for Lizzie. Every night she took her telescope to the roof, hoping to see lights on in Red's apartment. But it was dark, the curtains drawn tight over the windows. She tried not to think about him. When that failed, she tried to remind herself that he was a former intelligence agent, now a criminal and also, legally, dead. That didn't seem to work either. The kiss haunted her dreams, waking her up before daylight, tangled in her sheets. She would lay there in bed half-cursing the man for rekindling all these feelings inside her, and then just running off without so much as a tip of the fedora.

Reddington had been gone for eight days, not that she was counting, when a somber man in a government suit came to visit Lizzie at work. The department admin escorted him into her cubical just after ten in the morning; Lizzie was still in the midst of answering her emails.

He was older than her, possibly somewhere around Reddington's age. His hair was salt-and-pepper slowly going silver; his small wire-rimmed glasses framed eyes that were cold, despite his cordial greeting. Lizzie decided she didn't care for him, and she really didn't like him in her cube.

"How can I help you?"

"Do you know a man by the name of Raymond Reddington?"

"I suspect you already know the answer to that question. Why don't you try asking me what you really want to know?" His face remained almost completely passive, despite her sarcasm, but there was a tiny twitch in the corner of his eye that told her she had irritated him. She didn't care, she just wanted him gone.

"Where is Raymond Reddington?"

"I don't know."

"You're sure? He never mentioned any travel plans to you?"

"No. He didn't. Now, if that's all, I do have clients to see today." She tried for a cool, professional smile to go with her dismissive answer. The man stood and reached into his suit jacket and for just a fraction of a second, Lizzie wondered if he was armed. But his hand came back into view with a mere business card, which he placed on her desk.

"Reddington is dangerous, Ms. Keen. If you should see him, or learn of his whereabouts, I'd encourage you to call us."

He left without another word. His card sat like a portent of doom on her desk for the rest of the day.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** **LiteraryBitca** deserves all the awards ever for helping me with this chapter. As always, I own none of this. Sigh.

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A few more days passed and still not a word from Raymond Reddington. Lizzie's fury had morphed into a deep ache in her chest. She knew it was absurd to become so attached so quickly, and to such a person. She understood all the very logical reasons why she should forget him and let the last few weeks fade into a memory. But her well-honed intuition told her there was more to the story of Red, and that while he may have given up on them, she certainly hadn't. She could be patient. She could wait.

She chalked it up to her hyper-awareness when she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. When the guy she saw in the park while jogging, later showed up in the coffee shop near the clinic, she told herself it was coincidence. When she came home to find things out of place, she called her landlord, only to find that no maintenance visit had been scheduled for her apartment. She stopped running the same route on the same days. She changed the way she drove to work. She went to a different coffee house. But no more than a day would pass and she would get that same feeling, the sense of being followed.

Lizzie retreated to her rooftop each evening; here, at least, she could be relatively sure she wasn't being watched. As hard as she tried, she could never quite break the habit of swinging her telescope towards Red's apartment. Tonight, however, she thought she saw light behind the closed curtains and her heart gave one hopeful leap.

"Still the voyeur, I see." The deep baritone voice from behind her almost caused her to knock over her telescope. She caught it before it could overbalance and whirled to confront the man who had practically consumed her thoughts for the past week and a half.

"Red?"

"You were expecting someone else on a rooftop in the dark?" Lizzie decided she didn't appreciate his sarcasm at the moment.

"I don't know, maybe. Perhaps one of the little watchdogs you've had following me around? You know, Red, I get that you don't understand modern male-female dynamics. Maybe it's been a long time for you. But to kiss me like that and then flee the country, with no word at all, and then have me followed around and spied on, it's not okay!" She hadn't meant to yell. But she was angry, and more so, he had hurt her feelings. Feelings she thought maybe he reciprocated.

"I got your note, so I know you received my message, Lizzie." He was calm and she hated it. Why did he get to be so self-possessed when her emotions felt like a runaway train?

"Yes, I got your message. ' Sorry, so sorry, I got your hopes up, you silly girl' I swear Red, couldn't you come up with something more original than the old 'it's not you, it's me' excuse? Maybe you didn't intend to kiss me, maybe you got carried away with all your flirting and you didn't mean to mislead me. But you could have explained that to me, in person. I deserved that much." Red's stoic expression dissolved into one of such poignant regret, that it twisted her insides to see him so downcast. She had one last thing to say though, and despite how it hurt, she would finish.

"It wasn't fair to have me watched. To remove yourself from my life and yet keep me in yours, even at a distance. "

Red looked genuinely confused by her accusation and Lizzie felt some of the wind going out of her sails. She had assumed it was Reddington keeping an eye on her. She didn't understand why he would do so, but neither could she think of anyone else who would do it.

"Lizzie, I don't have anyone watching you. I just returned to the States this afternoon. Why don't you catch your breath a moment and then tell me everything?"

In the purple twilight, his eyes were like slate, dark and lusterless. He had recovered his control with only a little sadness lingering in his eyes, sitting patiently, as though everyday someone accused him of stalking. She took a few deep breaths. Lizzie began her story right after he had left the country, with the visit from the man who was looking for him. As she described the feeling of being followed, and watched, he grew increasingly agitated.

"Red? What's wrong?"

"Perhaps nothing."

"No, it's not nothing. Not with that face. It's definitely something."

"Here's what I want you to do: keep your eyes open. If something looks different, seems out of place. Sudden changes can be warning signs, so stay very alert and tell me when and if anything like that occurs."

"Red, seriously, that is not an explanation. You owe me an explanation. Because before I met you, I'm pretty sure there was no one after me at all. Now I'm being followed in the park and people are breaking into my apartment. Apparently, crushing on a criminal mastermind makes a girl paranoid. So, give me a reasonable explanation or so help me, I will toss you off this roof."

Red's lips twitched into a smile at her empty threat.

"You have a crush on me, Lizzie?" He looked momentarily delighted, which irked her.

"Don't even go there, Red." Lizzie scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him silently until he sighed in defeat.

"Do you recall my telling you that the people who had attempted to kill me long ago knew that I was still alive, but seemed content enough to leave me alone for the past twenty years?"

"Yes I remember."

"Well, I think they have decided to tie up their loose ends. I've amassed quite an empire, in both money and connections, but as long as I remained on my own, isolated, they didn't bother with me. But I changed the status quo and forced their hand."

Lizzie tried to get a solid grip on what he was trying to tell her. He had worked in government intelligence, until the government turned on him and tried to kill him. He faked his death and went underground, emerging as a criminal. And now…the government wanted to kill him again?

"I don't understand. What changed?"

Red cupped her cheek in his large, warm hand, smiling at her with just a hint of his former flirtatiousness. She couldn't resist leaning into his touch.

"I found you, Lizzie."

"Yes, you found me, and then you ran away, Red."

"You're like a dog with a bone, you know that?" His expression darkened from fondness to exasperation.

"I had to leave. It was the only way to draw them out."

"Draw them out? So what? I was…bait?"

"Of course you weren't. I was trying to direct their attention away from you, if anything. I thought if I left the country, maybe they would follow me. I would never have deliberately put you in danger, Lizzie."

"Well, if you are right, and they are after me, then I would say you have rather failed. Honestly, I'm not even sure I care right now."

"Lizzie…"

Suddenly exhausted, Lizzie stepped away from Reddington. She was glad he was safe, even glad he had come back, but whatever game he had going on; she wanted no part of it. She was no longer sure she could trust herself where he was concerned. She tucked her telescope under her arm and retreated to her apartment, trying not to think about the man who watched her go.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews and comments, they mean so much to me. Properly disclaimed, thoroughly un-beta'd. Hope you enjoy!

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Next week, Lizzie lost her job. Her boss called her into his office on a Wednesday afternoon, she had assumed for a review of her cases. But as she sat there silently watching him, she realized that they wouldn't be discussing the tribulations of her clients. He was nervous, he wouldn't look her in the eye, something or someone had made the clinical psychiatrist extremely uneasy.

"Lizzie, I'm so sorry, but we have to let you go." The words all came out in a rush, as though he were desperate to get it over and done. Lizzie studied him further as she considered her own words. That first wash of anger and anxiety was never a good jumping off point.

"Has there been an issue with my performance, Dr. Pullman? I know that you and I haven't worked together very long, but my review with Dr. Maximoff before her retirement indicated that I was doing satisfactory work." Lizzie concentrated on slow, even breathing. She could feel herself starting to panic but she knew that this was her one chance to learn as much as she could. Reddington had warned her that night on the roof. So, while this was a nasty surprise, it was also an opportunity.

"Your work has been fine…just fine. But we lost a crucial grant and the budget is tight already…" he trailed off, still not meeting her eyes.

"I'm sorry Lizzie, if it was up to me…but it's out of my hands." He stood abruptly, apparently deciding that he'd done his duty. She rose from her chair and crossed to the desk, glancing down as she shook his hand formally. In the center of the desk was a card identical to the one on her desk. She kept her expression neutral as she excused herself to clean out her desk. She hadn't been at the clinic very long, her personal possessions fit into one file box. She wiped down the desk and double checked the drawers again as she waited for her escort from the building.

They had been as kind as possible about it, but as Lizzie sat in her car, she felt tears rising up to clog her throat. A month's severance pay, a letter of reference and a pat on the head didn't really take the sting out of losing the job that was supposed to be the fulcrum of her new life. She had a plan when she moved here; she was going to learn to cook, enjoy her work, make friends and maybe even get a dog. So why was she sitting here, unemployed, with nothing to go home to but an empty apartment and a fridge full of takeout? Her only friend was a dead fugitive. Lizzie allowed herself only a moment of pity before she shook her head and started the car. Time to go see her friend Red; she was sure this qualified as a new and strange development.

The afternoon air was chilly and the wind was bitter. Winter loomed in the very near future and Lizzie wondered if she would need to put snow tires on her car. She refused to dwell on her misfortune as she moved briskly to Reddington's building, but a small part of her just wanted comfort. Specifically, it wanted Red's comfort. As she walked slowly up the stairs, it dawned on her that she didn't even have a phone number for him, she didn't even know if he was home. Sure enough, there was no answer to her knock. Lizzie felt the resolve she had clung to so far begin to falter. The tears that had knotted her throat earlier threatened to spill from her eyes. She slid down the wall next to Red's door and just sat on the floor. She would just wait here.

"Lizzie? Lizzie," Red's deep voice startled her awake and she looked around wildly for a moment, trying to sort out why she was dozing next to his apartment door.

"Red? Why am I on your floor?" Her brain was still fuzzy from her impromptu nap.

"What time is it?"

"It's time for you to get up off the floor, Lizzie. Come inside, I'll make you some tea." He extended a hand to her and she took it, allowing him to pull her to a standing position. She followed him into the apartment, watching him shrug off his overcoat and hang it on a peg near the door, with his hat. Lizzie simply stood, studying him, still dazed from sleep until he spoke her name again, quietly. She realized she was still wearing her coat and gloves and quickly shed them, tossing them across the arm of a nearby chair.

Lizzie stood uncertainly in the center of the room, unable to think of anything to say. She'd never been inside Red's apartment before, except that one time when he'd held her at gunpoint. He had taken off his suit coat and rolled his shirt sleeves, and he seemed entirely at ease in the small kitchen, putting a kettle of water to boil. He always seemed so infuriatingly self-assured. He knew his world and his place in it and here she was, with her graduate degrees and clinical experience and she was completely adrift. She wondered if she was doomed somehow to be alone in the world, adrift on the currents of whatever she blundered into, like a rogue planet. Not for the first time, she cursed her telescope and her rabid curiosity.

She shook off the melancholy thoughts and smiled half-heartedly at Red as he pressed a mug of hot tea into her hands. It was black as midnight, with a subtle spice that warmed her to her bones. He sat on the couch and patted the cushion beside him.

"Have a seat, Lizzie. Tell me what happened. I don't bite."

Her eyebrows flew almost to her hairline at the last comment. But, she let it pass. She'd been trying not to think about that kiss that seemed an age ago, but she'd not forgotten it by a long shot.

"They fired me today at the clinic."

"I'm terribly sorry. That must have been an ordeal. Did they say why?"

"They mentioned something about grant funding and budgets but when I shook my supervisor's hand, I saw a business card on his desk. The same one that was on my desk."

"And so you think he had something to do with it, your mystery visitor who asked about me?"

"Yes. I don't know why. Or what purpose having me fired would serve. But I feel like it is definitely connected."

Red sat quietly, sipping his tea as he quickly became lost in his thoughts. She could almost watch the gears moving smoothly in his brain.

"Are they trying to use me to get to you?"

"I'm sure that's the plan. I was in the wind, so they go after the things that tether me to the Earth."

"There can't be much that holds you down, Red. And how did they know about me?"

He smiled at her, and it felt like someone had taken a firm grip on her heart and given it a squeeze.

"Because unless I am mistaken, the man who came to see you is my former partner."

Lizzie stood, eager to burn some of the anxious energy that was beginning to bounce around in her brain. She could see the pieces of the puzzle, but not how they fit, not yet anyway. So she paced around the room, looking absently at the collections on the built-in shelves. For a man who required light travel, he seemed to have a lot of things. Books, postcards, pictures, although she noted with a slight pang of sadness, there were no people in any of the pictures. Beaches and mountains and a truly lovely one of a bridge in Paris, but no people.

"Okay, so why would your former partner be after you, after all this time?

Reddington placed his tea cup on the coffee table and sat back on the cushions. She knew he knew more than he was telling. And right now, he looked like he was still trying to figure out how much she should know. She wasn't having that.

"I know you're looking for a way to avoid telling me what I want to know. Your poker face sucks, Red. This man, or whoever he works for, have had me stalked and watched and now fired, you have run out of excuses not to explain this situation."

He merely raised a single eyebrow at her demanding tone.

"The fire that night that you and I met, all those years ago was a cover. Your mother was a former KGB agent and with your father, she had come to the United States seeking asylum. She was my informant. She gave us a lot of helpful information over the next several years. That night, she had called me for extraction; she said that they had been betrayed. So we, my team and I, went out that night to your home to move you and your family to safety." His usually smooth voice was rough, and Lizzie could once again see the weight of the secrets he had carried for so long.

She sat down beside him again, no longer so sure she wanted to hear the whole story. Clearly, there was a good reason the past needed to stay buried, but no matter her preference, it was better to know what was coming.

"My partner and I had been at odds for a while. He had become more secretive, less willing to work with the rest of the team. A few times, the holes in his research almost got people killed. It was never anything I could put my finger on though, so I kept it to myself." He stood abruptly, making Lizzie flinch back from the nervous tension now pouring off of him. He prowled the room with his hands in his trouser pockets; the muscles of his shoulders under suit vest were rigid with suppressed emotion.

"He shot your mother and father. I was in the midst of collecting all the files that were stored in the dining room, when I heard shouting. I had the rest of my team take the information out of the house and ran upstairs. Your parents were dead and I had no idea where you were. My partner was gone I didn't know where, but the fire started almost immediately so I can guess." Red rolled his shoulders as he paced, and Lizzie tried to take in everything he was telling her. It didn't seem possible to her that she had actually been present at the time; she had absolutely no memories of it. In all likelihood, she had suppressed the trauma, because at such a young age, that's all the human mind can do.

He was no longer pacing the floor; now he simply stood near the French doors and studied her in the early evening light. Those violent memories had etched themselves on his face, and the misery in his eyes was more than she could stand. She stood and approached him slowly but steadily, keeping her eyes on his face.

Lizzie stood on her tiptoes and kissed Red's cheek softly as he stared at her, completely dumbstruck.

"Lizzie…I…" His voice trailed off as she slid her arms around his waist, she almost expected him to shake off her embrace, but he didn't.

"That night, you think you failed to save my parents. That you somehow, ruined my life." The guilt marred his features for a moment, before he caught himself.

"But you didn't. You saved me. You gave me Sam. Even if it wasn't you who took me to him, you are the one who got me out of that fire. You saved me."

His arms slowly came around her shoulders as she smiled at him. He held her as spun glass, precious and ethereal, and, he feared, so easily broken. Love was such a fragile thing.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Thanks to the LS Muse in Residence for spurring me to finish this chapter. This is un-beta'd and properly disclaimed for reasons. Hope you enjoy.

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Lizzie woke the next morning in a panic. The sun was streaming in brightly through her window, the clock on her bedside table read eight-thirty; she was late for work! She made it all the way into her bathroom before she remembered that she no longer had a job. Her reflection stared back at her with dark circles under her eyes; a testament to her lack of sleep. For a moment, Lizzie wanted to crawl back into bed, bury herself under the covers and pretend it was all a very bad dream, but she shook off the denial like a good psychologist should and climbed into the shower instead.

She was halfway through drying her hair when she heard a knock. The baseball bat she kept near her bed almost jumped into her hand as she padded, silently, to the door. The little thrill that shot through her as she saw Raymond Reddington standing there was not entirely unexpected, though she went to great pains to hide her smile as she threw the deadbolt and opened the door. He strolled in without waiting to be asked, which didn't surprise her, although the white bakery bag in his hand did. Red glanced at the baseball bat she was still holding with an oddly sweet smile.

"Armed and dangerous, Lizzie? You were expecting someone else?" He set the bag on the kitchen counter next to his hat.

She just stood for a moment and stared at him wordlessly, all the things he had told her last night came rushing back, and the way he had held her in the darkened living room. Her heart was trying very hard to make a hero out of this man, and Lizzie knew that to be a very dangerous idea. No matter how she felt, their situation was precarious; it would be wise to avoid romantic entanglements. Her facial expression must have betrayed her inner turmoil, Red tilted his head in that way he had, and studied her face carefully. Every time he did that, she felt as though he were flipping through her thoughts like the pages of a book. It was disturbingly intimate, to be so well understood by a virtual stranger.

"Lizzie?"

"What's in the bag, Red?" She kept her tone light, casual, and slipped the bat into the corner near the door as she locked it once more.

"Croissants. There's a marvelous bakery about two blocks from here. Their pastries just melt in your mouth. You haven't already eaten have you?"

He seemed genuinely concerned that she might not want a croissant and this time, Lizzie couldn't prevent the foolish grin from curving her lips.

"No. I'm really not much of a breakfast person."

Red narrowed his gaze on her with a frown of disapproval and she was tempted to laugh.

"That's no good, Lizzie. You need to eat. Breakfast is important."

"Even when shadowy government types are trying to burn your life down around you?"

"Especially then."

Lizzie slid into the kitchen beside him as he placed two croissants in her toaster oven to warm. His cologne was just a subtle hint of sandalwood and leather, but she inhaled it as though it were the last breath she would take.

"Guess I'll make the coffee then." She really wished she didn't like his smile so much.

They didn't talk much while they ate the admittedly divine pastries. Red sipped his coffee, only taking a little sugar in it, a holdover, he said, from life in the Navy. Lizzie took the opportunity to study him as he opened the morning's newspaper. She couldn't quite picture him as a young Navy officer, all spit and polish, in his dress whites. The stiffness of the image was too hard to reconcile to the distinguished and urbane Reddington.

"Are we going to discuss it at all, Red?" She broke their companionable silence almost too abruptly. He looked up from his paper with a single lifted brow, but Lizzie wasn't taking the bait. She could wait him out; after all, it was her life on the block now.

Finally, he folded the newspaper and set it aside; leaning back in his chair at her dining room table he gave her his full attention.

"What exactly would you like to discuss, Lizzie?"

She squirmed in her chair. Why did he always make her feel so awkward?

"What happens now? I've been fired, and I'm going to need another job soon. The rent on this place doesn't pay itself. I have a car payment to make and other bills as well. But I don't know what these people are after, or if they're going to try to kill me, or if you're just going to up and disappear…again." Her words seemed to ignite the restless energy inside, she left the table and began to pace; to the French doors, to the kitchen. All the worries that had prevented restful sleep now fluttered in her head like a thousand butterflies.

"I understand your concern, Lizzie. Trust me, I have no desire to see you harmed in any way. It may be that leaving the country may be a good solution, at least temporarily, until I can find out if he is working alone or if he has the government on his side still."

Lizzie wanted to beg him not to go. She felt safer with him close by, however contradictory that seemed. He was the reason her life was under the microscope, being pulled apart like a science experiment. She leaned against the counter and folded her arms across her chest.

"Okay then, how do you go about finding out these things? Do you have people for this task?"

"I have people for every task. But in this case, the direct approach seems the simplest. I'll ask him to meet me."

Lizzie stared at him, stunned.

"Red, the man wants to kill you; I don't think he's likely to meet up for cocktails."

"Nonsense Lizzie, I know him quite well. He's always been an arrogant sort, and nothing will suit him better than a chance to show off how he tracked down a dead man."

"All right, Red, let's think of some other scenarios though, maybe something less suicidal?" The heavy sarcasm wasn't lost on him at all, given the look he slanted her way.

"I worked with the man for a long time, in some ways we knew each other better than our own families. His name was David Greenfield. I don't know what he calls himself now, but he's still the same man. I will extend the invitation and he will show up, he won't be able to help himself. Trust me when I say I know what I am doing." He stood from the table and brushed nonexistent crumbs from his pale gray suit. He took his dishes to the kitchen, placing them carefully in the sink, waiting for her acquiescence to his plan.

She turned over all the stones in her mind, looking for something to say, the right thing to say. What Red had planned was a surefire way to either kill or be killed. It didn't seem like there was a way to talk him out of it though. Lizzie hoped that he had some clever plan, or at least a guardian angel standing by. She accompanied him to the door, leaning against it while he donned his customary fedora once more. He gave her a rakish smile and patted her shoulder soothingly.

She didn't think about it. Her hands went to the lapels of his jacket and she pulled herself into his space, covering his lips with hers before he could even make a sound. Everything she ever thought or felt, she let it flood out of her and into this kiss, hoping she could make him understand what he meant to her. After a moment, they stepped back, faces flushed, eyes glazed. It took her two tries to undo the locks and open the door. Red paused at her threshold and cupped her face in his hand.

"You have to trust me, Lizzie."

"I do trust you. But if you wind up dead I swear I will kill you myself."

He was laughing as he left her, and never saw the tears in her eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** As always, I own nothing you see here. Hope you enjoy!

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Lizzie soon learned how it felt to be caught in a trap. She walked to the corner market only to find that none of her credit cards were working, so she paid for her few purchases with the cash in her wallet. She stopped by her bank to find her accounts frozen. The usually friendly teller looked at her with suspicious eyes. She knew what was happening. The people or person who wanted Red had found their linchpin in her. She sat in her apartment as evening approached, wondering how long it would be before her car would be repossessed. At the end of month, if not sooner, she imagined the landlord would come around with an eviction notice. She poured out a shot from the dusty bottle of whiskey she kept on a high shelf.

She wasn't sure if she was angry at herself or Reddington. On one hand, it wasn't his fault this was happening to her. On the other hand, she hadn't asked for any of this, had she? She just wanted a nice clean slate to start over. Her mess of a marriage had crumbled under her feet, the only father she'd known had passed away and she felt as though every bit of solid ground had vanished. So she had opted to cut all her losses and begin again. Only a nasty twist of fate could have landed her here, with all that she had built in ruins. Lizzie poured another shot as her cell phone vibrated on the coffee table. She rolled her eyes at the name that popped up on the screen, "Ray's Diner" indeed. No point in asking how he had programmed his number into her phone.

The whiskey burned her throat, made her eyes water a little, but she kept pouring because she was tired of thinking. Because no matter what worry slipped into her mind, all of her thoughts eventually came around to the man in the three piece suit. And a telescope. For a fragment of a second, she considered going up to the roof, then dismissed it. Even three drinks in, she knew better. She'd either break her treasured telescope or fall off the roof. Lizzie wondered if she had never turned her telescope in the direction of his apartment, would she be here? Getting drunk, alone in the dark?

A loud knock at the door made her jump halfway off the couch. She knew who it was, who it had to be. She swayed on her feet as she made her way to the door, leaning into it as she peered through the peephole. There was Raymond Reddington, hatless in her hallway, looking incredibly annoyed and handsome. The locks and chain fought her like feral cats and by the time she was finally able to wrench the door open she was breathing like a marathon runner. She narrowed her eyes at him, mostly because he always looked so calm and collected, but also because it helped her inebriated eyes focus. He looked at her carefully in the dim light of the hallway.

"Lizzie. You didn't answer my call."

"No I didn't. How did you…nope, never mind. I'm not asking that question. So I didn't answer the phone so you march over here for what reason?" She makes a mental note to herself, whiskey makes her belligerent.

"Obviously I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried something had happened to you. Other than a half of a bottle of Jim Beam."

Lizzie knew she should just say good night and close the door. That would be a smart move for her, especially with her newfound attitude. So of course, she doesn't do that.

"You could say something has happened, Red. You happened. I've lost my job, my bank accounts and credit cards are frozen, my car is going to be repo'd and that's all just because I met you! What a difference one man makes. I swear, my ex-husband didn't manage to wreak this much havoc and we were married. Thank god we never had a second date or I'd probably be dead already." She knew she'd hit a nerve there, his face went pale and his lips flattened into a thin line. He pushed the door open and walked past her into the apartment.

"I'm not going to stand there in the hallway and argue with you, Lizzie. If you have things to say, I'd prefer some privacy, since sobriety doesn't seem to be a quality you currently possess." He picked up the bottle, poured an inch into the glass she had been using and took a healthy swallow.

The temper Lizzie had been holding onto left her suddenly, and she felt like a balloon two days after the party. She slumped onto the couch and put her face in her hands. She wanted to hide; she wanted him to go away. She felt like she was locked in a nightmare and she couldn't make herself wake up.

"If you need money, I can help you. Since it is partially my fault you're in this situation."

Lizzie felt her anger reigniting. She looked at him in disbelief.

"Money? Is that what you think this is about, Red? Money?"

Red set his glass down carefully, watching her warily. He seemed to realize he'd stepped wrong.

"This is about my life. Everything I had is gone. I've known you less than six months and I no longer have a job and my credit score is trashed. If you'd like, you can burn down my apartment, since I will undoubtedly be getting an eviction notice very soon anyway. Do you get how that could upset a person? I've never even gotten a speeding ticket and now I've had guns pointed at me, I've been followed and investigated like a criminal."

He stood abruptly. And she could see the marks her words had left on his face. He looked like he'd been punched.

"I'm so sorry, Lizzie, for the trouble I've caused you. I truly only meant to keep you safe." His voice was stilted, even a little cold and she shivered without thinking.

"Job well done, Red."

"I'll see myself out." And then he was gone. She knew the alcohol was cushioning the pain right now. He was her last best hope in this mess and she'd just thrown it all at him as though he'd done it intentionally. Lizzie knew remorse would come in the morning, with the hangover she was surely due, but for now she took the bottle to the sink and poured its contents down the drain.

She laid down on her couch and let the night claim her.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Sorry it's been so long. We're winding up to the big finish now, hope you enjoy the ride! Un-beta'd and disclaimed, as always.

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Lizzie woke to a pounding headache and a mouth full of sawdust. The morning sun slipping through the curtains felt like laser beams to her bloodshot eyeballs, so she kept her eyes closed as she stood and slowly, carefully made her way to the bathroom, only banging her shin on the furniture once. She turned the water on as hot as she could manage and stripped off her clothes, trying not to look in the mirror. Her reflection seemed extra judgmental this morning. The hot water created a cocoon of steam to comfort her traumatized senses. Lizzie had been to college, she had experienced her fair share of hangovers, but she didn't recall them being this bad. Perhaps it was the combination of her life going up in smoke around her and her faulty decisions regarding criminals and alcohol that added the extra tax to what she already owed the piper.

Her shower lasted until the water went frigid and cleared away the rest of the cobwebs from her mind. Wrapped in her bathrobe, she sat on her bed, wondering what steps she should take. Obviously, she needed to apologize to Reddington. If she had even said half the things she remembered from last night, she owed him that. But other than that, she had to start making some decisions; she couldn't wait for someone to save her. Maybe the situation wasn't her own doing, but she was in it now, so she had to come up with a plan. She could leave town, she supposed. Pack up whatever she could, throw it in the car and sneak out of town like a thief in the night. The idea of running away didn't exactly appeal, but her options were slightly limited at this point.

Of course, the main hindrance to her great escape was her frozen financial resources, since cars need gasoline. She had a thousand dollars in cash, stashed in a tiny safe in her closet. Sam called it a "Shit Happens Fund", always emphasizing the wisdom of a safety net, just in case something happened. Sure enough, something had happened. Lizzie thought for a moment about taking Red up on his offer of a loan, but that made her belly clench unpleasantly, and so she dismissed it. She had feelings for Red, she could own up to that like a grown-up, but she didn't want his money.

When she stepped outside her building, coat buttoned tight against the cold air, she immediately saw another tiny hitch in her plan. Her car was gone. She closed her eyes, hoping it was a trick of the light, but no, when she opened them again, still no car. It looked like she was going to be making her apologies to Raymond Reddington sooner than she thought. Hiking her tote bag further up on her shoulder, she started the walk across the street. Hopefully, he would be home. Although, given her last stellar performance as a person-who-just-can't, she wondered if he would open the door.

She rapped her gloved knuckles against the door for the second time. As much as she didn't blame him, she really hoped he wasn't holding a grudge. Her hand rose for a third try when the door swung open, Lizzie just stood there with her hand in the air like a bad mime.

"Lizzie? What's wrong?"

"I thought you weren't going to answer."

"I was getting dressed. I try not to answer the door en dishabille, if I can help it." The smirk was in full force today, as though last night had been forgotten and leaving Lizzie slightly breathless with a mental picture of Red in a towel answering the door. She shrugged the image away, trying to collect her scattered wits and followed him inside the cozy apartment.

She sat on the sofa, with her bag on the floor beside her feet, watching Red as he bustled about in the kitchen. It was then that she noticed the tea tray on the coffee table, with two cups and saucers, sugar and cream, even a plate with a few cookies on it. He didn't know she was coming here, so who was coming for tea?

"Red, are you expecting someone?"

He looked up at her briefly, mouth working in that way it did when he had something he didn't wish to tell her. Then the kettle whistled and he went back to his chore.

"What brings you by, Lizzie?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes and sighed. She didn't have the energy for twenty questions today.

"When I got up this morning, I thought about just leaving. Packing up and starting over again, some place far from here. I hear California is nice."

She could hear Red's chuckle in the kitchen.

"That sounds like a plan. What's stopping you?"

"Well, for starters, I owe you an apology. For last night. I know you didn't plan for all this stuff to happen and it isn't your fault at all, and I'm sorry for taking my anger out on you."

"Apology accepted, but really not needed. Almost anyone who found themselves in this crazy situation would probably have done the same. You've actually handled it with far more grace than I would have expected."

"I'm not sure what that says about your expectations of me but whatever. I'm glad we got that cleared up."

"So, California?"

"That was the idea. Unfortunately, tiny plot twist: my car is gone."

Reddington emerged from the kitchen with a teapot in his hands and a confused look on his face. It was so absurd that Lizzie actually giggled aloud.

"What do you mean, your car is gone?"

"It is gone. Vanished. Ceased to be. It is no more." Her joke got her an annoyed look from the man with the teapot.

"I imagine that the finance company has had it repossessed. That's what they do when you lose your job and they don't feel like you'll be making the payments on it."

"I'm sure I can sort this out for you. Let me make some calls and I'll give you a call later, okay? Maybe we can go get something to eat, as a farewell. But you should head back to your place and finish packing, right?" Lizzie stared at him. Why was he hustling her out the door? Who was he expecting?

"Red? What's going on?" she asked as he took her arm to escort her towards the door. She stopped short and yanked her arm out of his grasp. She folded her arms across her chest and stared down Raymond Reddington with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere, until you tell me what you're doing."

A loud knock punctuated the silence between them and something like fear slid into Red's eyes.

"Damn it." The curse was a harsh whisper. Before Lizzie could ask, the elegant, sophisticated Concierge of Crime had slung her over his shoulder, and with little ceremony, yanked open the coat closet and deposited her within.

"Do not make a sound. No matter what you hear. You stay here."

He closed the door, leaving Lizzie, as usual, completely in the dark. Again.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Big love to the Gutterbugs for the help and inspiration when I hit a wall on this chapter. Unbeta'd and thoroughly disclaimed.

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He no longer called himself David Greenfield; he had gone back to his legal name of David Hunter after the events of that long ago winter night in Nebraska. He had moved steadily up the ranks of the shadowy coalition he served, taking a legitimate position within the government of his own country. It was not a high-profile position, for the work he did was much better done out of the eye of the media. In the background he could accomplish his tasks without worrying about an abundance of scrutiny.

Raymond Reddington had always been a thorn in his side. He wasn't on the team sent to kill him that Christmas Eve twenty years ago, a fact which never failed to annoy him. If they had chosen him, Reddington would be in an unmarked grave somewhere in the Maryland woods. When it had become obvious that the former intelligence officer was not only alive, but now a criminal, everyone involved had been somewhat amused. David had been ordered to leave him alone, despite his protests that Reddington was still a threat to them. He had followed orders against his better judgment. Now, here they were, back where they started, and once again, a girl would bring down Raymond Reddington.

Lizzie sat in the closet, trying to shift silently into a slightly more comfortable position. Outside the door, she could hear two men talking. One was obviously Reddington, and the other…she leaned lightly against the wood paneling, trying to discern the identity of the second person. She had an idea who it was, and it sat cold and heavy on her chest. She was almost certain that Red's former partner wasn't here to have a nice cup of tea.

"You have the files don't you, Raymond? There would be no other reason for you to call me here."

"Of course I have them. I've no idea why you want them; the information has to be hopelessly out of date. But I imagine this has less to do with those files and more to do with your personal vendetta. Mopping up the mess from almost thirty years ago. You were always the last one to let go of a grudge. It seems time has not cured you of that." Red's voice was a muted rumble that she could barely make out behind the solid wood of the door.

"You've run the length of your tether, Raymond, and we cannot allow you to continue. I'm sure the managing members of our organization will be glad to once again have this information in our control."

"I have no doubt you will be commended on your handling of the situation. Especially since it's a situation of your own creation. Do have a seat, David. The tea is getting cold. I'll just grab the files for you."

Lizzie wanted to bang her head against the wall; why was Red trying to antagonize the man? What files was he talking about? The ones that had been taken from her childhood home the night of the fire? She could hardly believe he'd kept them, much less that they'd even be relevant after all this time.

A few moments of silence passed, Lizzie was reduced to counting the beat of her heart as it pounded loudly in her chest. She heard footsteps and the scrape of chairs on the floor. Then a very distinctive series of metallic clicks about which Lizzie desperately hoped she was mistaken.

"Who else is here, Raymond?" Lizzie realized with a stifled sound of dismay that her tote was still on the floor next to the couch. Red's guest knew they weren't alone. She could hear approaching footsteps, and covered her mouth with both hands to stop herself from screaming a warning. The sound of the gunshot wasn't as loud as she had thought it would be, and she could still hear Red speaking. Did he miss the shot, or was Red injured now? The desperation to know what was happening outside the closet was clawing at Lizzie's throat.

Lizzie began to paw silently through the coats hanging above her, hoping she could find some kind of weapon. She couldn't hear anything outside the door. If Red had stopped talking, there was a good chance he was dead or unconscious. She fumbled with shaking hands, trying to pretend she wasn't terrified of that very thing. Deep in the inside pocket of a tan trench coat, she found a tiny pistol. Praying to any deity that could hear her that she wouldn't accidently set it off; she checked to see if it was loaded. Thankfully, four out of five chambers held rounds.

She leaned against the back wall of the closet, surrounded by the scent of the Concierge of Crime, and waited to be discovered. The light that flooded the small closet when the door was flung open hurt Lizzie's eyes. But even momentary blindness couldn't prevent her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of the pistol in the man's hand. Her eyes met the same flat, stony gaze she had seen when he had come to her office months ago. This was Red's former partner. She searched the room behind him as he raised his weapon. She couldn't see Red. Her heart twisted in her chest until she thought she might cry from the pain, but she clenched her jaw and willed herself to focus. She could not help Red if she died.

"Ah, Elizabeth. I hoped we would meet again."

Her hands shook, her voice shook, everything inside of her quivered in fear, depending on this one moment to save her own life. But she met his cold gaze steadily.

"My name is Lizzie."

She pulled the trigger.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Well here we are at last, friends, the end of the story. I want to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. It is an amazing feeling to know that people were willing to take a chance on an iffy AU from a newbie author. All the awards to **LiteraryBitca** for reading through this last chapter,as well as love to the Gutterbugs for their feedback and help. Sorry for rambling, mostly un-beta'd, certainly disclaimed.

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Lizzie didn't blink as she pulled the trigger. She felt the recoil all the way into her shoulders; her ears rang from the sound of the shot. But her eyes stayed wide open and fixed on the man who wanted her dead. Who wanted to kill Raymond Reddington. She wasn't sure at what point she decided that she would not let that happen, but she had definitely made the choice. Slowly emerging from the coat closet, she took a deep, ragged breath and felt her whole body begin to shake.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. Lizzie's eyes darted frantically around the room, trying to find anything that was free of the grisly tint. The gun fell from her hand and clattered to the floor. The cool, calm space she had entered before she fired the weapon was nowhere to be found now. Now, everything was red.

There was a body on the floor and while the rational part of Lizzie's brain knew that she was responsible for it; the rest of her mind was having a harder time with the concept. She'd never fired a gun before. It felt like a terrible nightmare. She could see the gun still in his hand; see herself bracing for the recoil that would save her, by taking the life of another. Everything seemed hazy at the edges. Where was Red? She had done it to save Red. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slowly standing, using the wall to aid himself. His formerly crisp white shirt marred by a slowly spreading crimson stain. He had a cell phone in his hand, she could see him, she could even hear him speaking; but it was as though she were looking at him through a very long, dark tunnel. Lizzie staggered a few steps towards him, shock beginning to overwhelm her. She held on to his image like a lifeline as she slid to the floor in a dead faint.

Lizzie dreamt of fire and woke screaming.

The room wasn't hers. It was the first thing she could truly register as a fact, after shaking off the terrifying after effects of her nightmare. Also, she was not alone.

Dembe sat in a slightly worn looking armchair near her bed. He seemed calm, but concerned. He met her eyes steadily, as though he were willing the shades of her dream away from her. It may have worked, Lizzie found herself able to breathe normally again.

"Is Dembe really your name?" Her voice was a rasp, barely more than a whisper.

"Yes, it is. " He had such a nice voice, very mellow.

"And you work for Raymond Reddington?" It crossed Lizzie's mind that she had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there, she really hoped it was Red who had gotten her out of that apartment.

Dembe considered her question with a puzzled frown for a moment before answering.

"I work with Raymond. We are…family." The decisive note in his slightly accented tone made Lizzie smile for some reason, and Dembe's answering smile was like a sunrise across his solemn face. She sat up a little further in the bed, wrestling with the sweater and trousers she was still wearing, though her boots and socks had been removed. The heavy clothing was terribly uncomfortable now that she was awake; also she needed the restroom rather badly.

Whatever Dembe's other skills may have been, mind reading seemed to be one of them, as he stood and helped her out of the bed, guiding her to the bathroom and turning on the lights for her before closing the door.

It was a huge bathroom, with creamy walls and sand-colored tile that came halfway up the wall. Around the similarly tiled shower ran a band of blue tiles, in shades of sea-glass. It was beautiful and luxurious, far more so than anything Lizzie had ever encountered, but she could easily imagine a man in a three-piece suit, standing at the double vanity, knotting his silk tie. She washed her hands and splashed a bit of warm water on her sleep-reddened face; she had some further questions for Dembe.

If she could even find Dembe, she thought to herself ten minutes later, standing on a terrace overlooking a vineyard. An actual, honest-to-God vineyard. Lizzie could hardly believe her eyes when she opened the French doors in a large bedroom down the hall from hers. The sun was warm and bright in the almost cloudless blue sky, the mountains stood tall around her. It was as far from wintry Maryland as you could get in a short time. How long had she slept? Surely not more than a few hours, Lizzie sighed and continued her hunt for her host.

She found Dembe in the room adjacent to the enormous kitchen, which had been set up as an office library. He seemed at ease in the beautiful, book-filled space, with three large volumes on the table at his elbow and another in his hands. She cleared her throat quietly and smiled when he looked up.

"Where am I, Dembe?"

"This is the Rosetti Vineyard estate, in Napa Valley, California. It is one of Raymond's investments."

"Okay, question two: How long have I been here?"

"Twelve hours. Including the flight."

"Which brings me to the bonus question: How did I get here?"

"A mild sedative, given to you by Raymond's physician, to help with the shock."

Lizzie frowned. So it was late afternoon in Northern California. She closed her eyes as a memory came back to her, of talking with Red before…well, before everything. She had told him she had heard California was nice; and now she was in California. The Concierge never missed a trick.

"When is Red going to be here? He is coming, isn't he?" Dembe's face was once again solemn and filled Lizzie with a terrible anxiety.

With a crazy feeling of déjà vu, Dembe collected an envelope from the table and passed it to her. She took it with fingers that trembled and her voice cracked as she forced herself to ask one more question.

"Is he…okay?"

"Raymond is fine. His injury was not serious." Dembe smiled sympathetically as Lizzie's shoulders sagged with relief. She took the letter to the couch and sat down to read it.

 _Dear Lizzie,_

 _I know you must be a little disoriented at the moment but you are quite safe. Dembe is family. The estate is open to you, so please roam as you wish. There should be clothing and toiletries available for you._

 _I won't be able to see you for a while. Some loose ends need tying. But since it is my fault you became entwined in this terrible business, it seemed the least I could do is keep you safe from harm. Let Dembe know what you need and he will provide it._

It was signed without any sort of closure. Lizzie could feel the cold band of tension tightening around her shoulders again. So, he had dumped her here to keep her safe because she had trundled into a situation and therefore obligated him to sort it out. Didn't that just frost her cookies? A tiny frisson of anger wound its way into her mind. She stood swiftly, with her jaw held firm, her hands clenched at her sides. She had shot someone because of him, for him. Which Lizzie knew to be rationalization, but that didn't make it any less true. And he just dumped her here like a puppy that got into too much trouble.

Dembe was reading once again when she left the library, so Lizzie missed the tiny smile that slid across his face as she slammed the door.

Two days later, Lizzie found that she couldn't quite maintain the core of her anger at Red. Every time she mentally built the case against him and his actions, she would find that the warm California sun and the rise and fall of the mountains around her would slowly dissolve it. The center could not hold. Days passed, and she could no longer stir herself to find that anger anymore. She still missed him, though Dembe proved to be an amiable, if reserved companion.

Three weeks later, Lizzie sailed into the kitchen with a bottle of wine tucked under her arm. Dembe was at the professional gas range, stirring something in a skillet that smelled of garlic and herbs. She set the bottle on the counter and pulled the wide-brimmed straw hat off her head. The sun was fierce in the fields where she had been out with the vine supervisor.

"Is that the red blend you bottled last week, Elizabeth?"

"The very one. I'm so excited to try it. I hope it's good."

"I'm sure it will be. The vineyard manager says you are learning very quickly. He worries you are after his job."

Lizzie laughed from her perch on a stool across the island from where Dembe was cooking. In their first few days together, they had decided that he would be doing the cooking. Since she had no liking for the task, she was happy enough for him to do it. She had found other things to occupy her thoughts and time. Things that were decidedly not a career criminal with a predilection for hats. She worked in the winery, went for long walks, caught up on her reading, and even got back to mapping stars. She smiled to herself, remembering how she found the telescope waiting for her like an old friend on the small rooftop balcony. It was good to have something to do at night, when she couldn't sleep; which was far more often than she was telling anyone, including the private physician who had treated her for shock when she had first arrived. She would bid Dembe good night at a perfectly reasonable hour, go up to bed as she always did, and most nights, she would sleep for a handful of hours before the nightmares woke her up, gasping for breath and covered in icy sweat. After that, it was pointless to lie there, tossing and turning. She would head up to the roof and wish on every star she could see that Red would come back soon.

But he hadn't yet. Lizzie was holding on to her hope though, some days she held so much hope inside she thought she would choke on it. It would have to be enough.

Lizzie enjoyed Dembe's company as she always did. He was brilliant and funny and easy to talk to about almost anything. He never mentioned Red to her, though she knew he must have heard from him, so Lizzie made it a point never to ask. It seemed like the only thing to do. The bottle of wine was half-gone when she retired upstairs at her usual time. Maybe tonight, after the wine and too much sun, she would be able to sleep.

The clock beside her bed read two AM when she woke herself from the terrible dreams. She had thrown the blankets on the floor and now curled shivering in the corner of the bed. Retrieving the linens from where she'd tossed them, she stretched out and began her breathing exercises, willing herself into a calm state. It was the only thing that truly helped drive away the images in her head. Once she was able, she pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt and took the stairs two at a time to her rooftop sanctuary.

The old telescope sat as it always did, her supplies in a crate next to it, a camping lantern on the table. She stood for a few moments in the quiet darkness, admiring the sparkle of starlight over the shadowy mountains.

"It's said that some people prefer the dark."

Lizzie's scream was a strangled sound, completely unrecognizable to her own ears. Raymond Reddington leaned against the iron railing, seeming no more substantial than her dreams. For a moment, she was afraid she had not woken from the last one. Then he moved towards her, gripping her arms lightly and she wondered why just before her knees gave out completely. He helped her to the chair, rubbing her arms lightly, trying to ease her fear.

"Red? I…Where did you…?" her voice wavered and then vanished completely. The flood of emotions proved too much and she, to her consternation, burst into tears. She'd never seen Raymond Reddington so utterly flummoxed and she would have laughed if she could have stopped sobbing. He knelt in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, letting her vent her feelings into the soft wool of his dark coat. Eventually the storm passed, and Lizzie felt like she could speak coherently once more. She pulled away from him and turned up the light in the lantern. The warm light threw shadows across his otherwise familiar face and except for appearing a little thinner, he looked exactly the same.

"The last time I saw you, there was blood. I dream about it every night now. Blood everywhere. Some of it was yours." That wasn't what she had intended to say, really. She had meant to have some snippy comment about dumping her in Napa like a pet he was tired of. Her sleep-deprived brain had other ideas, evidently.

Red looked…terribly sad. Lizzie would bet every dollar she had that he knew what she dreamed of at night. That he had the same dreams. She guessed it was only logical, there were always consequences weren't there? You don't just take lives and walk away with a song, unless you're a psychopath.

"Oh, Lizzie. I'm so sorry. I've done you wrong, sweetheart, and I can't undo it." His voice was a sigh in the night, with the weight of a stone in her heart.

"I did what I had to do to survive, Red. I'm pretty certain he was not going to let me walk out of there. And I couldn't see you. I didn't know if you were dead or hurt and I couldn't just let you…" her words failed again and the tears swelled in her throat once again. It took three deep breaths before she could continue.

"I've never killed anyone before. I don't know even know how I managed to pull that trigger."

"You saved your own life, Lizzie. You likely saved my life, as well. You were brilliant. I'm just so sorry I got you into the situation where that was a choice you had to make." He brushed her hair away from her face with an unsteady hand, the firm line of his mouth betraying the well of emotions he concealed.

"What happened after I passed out? How did I get here?"

"Well, it was never a foolproof plan, but all my plans have a failsafe, for just these occasions. I called Dembe to come and get you both on my plane to California while I tidied up the mess I had left."

"Tidied up? Like, hide the body?"

"More like blow up the apartment."

Lizzie was more shocked than Red at the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. She just shook her head helplessly.

"Red, why is it always fire with you?"

"Some say the world will end in fire…"

"Robert Frost says that."

"Well, he still counts as 'some'."

They both laughed this time, knowing it was a way of whistling at the dark.

"Are you here to stay? Or just visiting?" She was almost afraid to ask; afraid he would go away again and leave her alone. She desperately did not want to be left alone.

He rose from where he had been kneeling and pulled the second chair over close to her. His coat fell open on the movement and she could see the gray suit he wore underneath, the glen plaid vest buttoned over his dress shirt. Just as he had been the first time she had accidently swung her telescope in his direction. He sat across from her and took her chilly hands in his much warmer ones.

"I don't plan to leave you again unless I have to, Lizzie."

Lizzie's heart stuttered in her chest. What did that mean? Like a couple, or more like best friends?

"So, you are staying. With me. Really with me."

"With you. I'm staying with you."

She considered the multiple possible meanings for a moment, but let it go from her mind. He was staying and that was what mattered. They would work out the meanings as they went along. For now, they sat companionably, hand in hand, beneath the stars.


End file.
